I had to spend my whole mini-vacation with no electronics whatsoever. I had to write shit down y’all. All I had was a Sharpie and a 3 subject notebook.
We had four days to spend with our friends in Tennessee. They live in the Smokey Mountains and have a lovely guest cabin that I have claimed as ours. Sure, other people might stay there and our friends might not know that it’s mostly our cabin now, but it’s mostly ours.
Not only are our friends great to hang out with, but they had two shows to play while we were there. Mountain air and the Madisons. The perfect long weekend.
One thing we noticed while we were in Tennessee is that everyone waves at everyone. Randy had a fever nearly the whole time we were there which might account for him throwing up the rock and roll devil horns to the old guy on the tractor we passed.
It also might account for his participation in my zombie conversation. Usually, if he finds a conversation nonsensical then he won’t participate. Zombies (for him) are nonsensical. This conversation happened after the farmer on the tractor but before we got to the drugstore to pump him full of cold medicine and aspirin.
Me: I wonder if zombies from the South would be polite zombies? You know like “I’m fixin to eat your brains now, y’all. I’m sorry if this isn’t a good time”.
Randy: Y’all kids, come in here and get your brains.
Me: But we had brains LAST night.
Randy: We made brains and I helped.
You really have to be old enough to remember the old Shake N Bake commercials to get the ‘and I helped’ reference.
We got to the drugstore, loaded up on cough syrup, aspirin, and Mucinex from behind the counter. I don’t know if the laws are different in Tennessee or if we just looked really shady, but the pharmacy girl gave Randy the third degree about his symptoms, blood pressure, blood sugar and his water intake. I was starting to feel guilty sitting there waiting. I started worrying that we might accidentally cook meth with the Mucinex. Although, I don’t think we’d be successful. Do you fry the pills in a pan or boil them like eggs to make the meth?
Just outside the drugstore is a tower that I’ve always found interesting. I told Randy that I wanted him to get a picture of the ‘Pet Milk’ tower and, fever aside, he was gracious enough to take the picture.
Randy: I got your picture, but it says Greenville redrying on it. Not pet milk. Me: Fucking really? I mean, I know when we were driving in, I thought that sign said ‘free forks’ instead of ‘fire works’ but if I read ‘Greeneville redrying’ as ‘pet milk’ then I would have to fuck up all the letters and have forgotten the concept of multiple syllable words. As it turns out, he just needed to turn his head to the right. Just a little bit.
I shouldn’t give Randy a hard time though, he was really sick. He was so sick that we couldn’t go to the Madison’s show on the fourth of July.
Even with his breaking bad meds he spent the fourth in bed asleep. I was left to my own devices on a mountain in the middle of nowhere with no internet access.
My forced social media break is still a little raw. I’ll have to write about that one later.